9
‘You’re going to need warmer clothes than that.’ Liam was standing in the doorway of her bedroom as Rachel threw a bunch of T-shirts into a holdall on the bed.
‘Well it’s all I’ve got. I haven’t exactly kept up with the latest fashions in Soho.’
‘Are you sure you really want to do this?’
As soon as Diana had g
one back to her hotel on the island, Rachel had phoned Liam for a summit meeting, explaining everything that had happened in the past few hours: Diana’s visit, her plea for Rachel to return home with her.
‘I thought you were all for me going back to England. Go and make up with your sister before it’s too late, isn’t that what you said?’ she added sharply.
Rachel knew she was being unnecessarily harsh, that Liam was only concerned for her well-being, but she was taking it out on him because the answer was: no, actually she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to go back to England. And yet she had allowed herself to be emotionally blackmailed, allowed Diana to make Julian’s death seem like a story waiting to be unravelled. Once she had got over the shock of the news, Rachel’s first thought had been that something felt wrong about his suicide. That Diana thought so too only sent prickles of macabre curiosity around her body.
She picked up a hot-pink vest top emblazoned with the words Keoni’s Tiki Beach, then threw it back on to a chair. Liam was right about that too: she wasn’t at all prepared for going back to England, clothes or anything else. She sat down on the edge of the bed and let out a long breath.
When she glanced up, she saw that her business partner was watching her. They hadn’t seen each other since the night at the beach. It had been his day off immediately afterwards, and the embarrassment between them now was palpable.
‘Look, Liam, I have to do this,’ she said. ‘But I can only do it if it’s all right with you.’ She looked at him, almost willing him to forbid her to go, give her some excuse to tell Diana. And of course, she wanted him to miss her. That more than anything.
But Liam just shrugged.
‘Of course it’s all right, of course you should go. Just . . . how long do you think you’ll be?’
‘Two weeks. Maybe three.’
‘Well, Sheryl can start tomorrow and Jeff can start in a week.’
Rachel felt panic rise in her throat, instantly imagining Liam and Sheryl alone on the boat, Liam stripped to the waist, Sheryl in her skimpy bikini. Even worse was the idea that they might share the same intimate banter and mutual flirtation she herself had with him day in day out. Please don’t, she thought, looking at him miserably.
She reminded herself that she had no claim over her business partner. Liam had never had a serious relationship in the entire time that they had known one another, and the few flings that he had had – the particularly beautiful tourist, the sexually confident, slightly slutty American barmaid – Rachel had kept discreet tabs on, using every ounce of her journalistic know-how to assess their threat. In any event, Liam had always given the impression that they were nothing serious, and secretly Rachel had considered this to be a good sign. A sign that Liam was actually hopelessly in love with her and, like herself, was just waiting for the right opportunity to declare it. But since their kiss on the beach, as painful as it was to admit, Rachel was no longer under any illusion that he was interested in her. More worryingly, now that the issue of their relationship had been confronted, now that they had finally, categorically clarified that they were ‘just good friends’, she wondered if Liam would quickly move on and find a proper girlfriend, rather than a business partner it was easy to spend his evenings with.
‘Great,’ she said, pasting on a false smile, ‘Sheryl starts tomorrow. That’s just great.’ She zipped up her bag with finality. It was probably a good thing to put some distance between them. ‘Well, I suppose that’s that, then.’
‘You are coming back?’
‘Of course I’m coming back,’ she said lightly. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I think you miss it,’ he said, pushing his hair away from his forehead. ‘Running around chasing down stories.’
‘I’m not chasing a story,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m trying to help my sister get closure.’
Was she? Was that it? Or was Liam right: did she really have an itch still needing to be scratched? Deep down, she was scared. Over the past three years, she had managed to push all her memories and feelings about her life on the newspaper into one dusty corner of her mind, locking it away – she hoped for ever. But now, now it was all coming rushing back. She had been associate editor of London’s Sunday Post when a sting involving a senior-level banker and a prostitute had been a front-page splash, leading to a spike in circulation. It had put fat-cat-bashing back on the menu and the editor, Alistair Hall, had wanted more of the same – the newsroom had been in an arms race to see who could get there first. Rachel had been aware of Julian’s unfaithfulness and she had hated him for it. Infidelity ruined lives, destroyed families – she knew that better than anyone. That had been her motivation; she had always maintained that, although she had been unwilling to spell it out to Diana. When the news team had brought the story of Julian’s infidelity with an eighteen-year-old model to conference, the daily meeting they had at the paper to discuss the stories, she hadn’t fought to kill it. Short-term pain for Diana would mean a happier life in the long run. Or so she had tried to justify her actions to herself.
Liam was looking at her as if he wanted to say something.
‘What?’ said Rachel, all thoughts of newspapers forgotten. She had the sense that he wanted to talk about that night, about the kiss. She was conflicted. Part of her needed to know for sure that he wasn’t in love with her, that the kiss and the subsequent rejection hadn’t been some big misunderstanding. The other part didn’t want to inflict any more pain or rejection.
But it had been two days ago, two days she had spent trying not to speak to him, and now it seemed the moment had passed.
‘Just don’t go getting used to it again,’ he said. ‘I know how much you loved that life, and it’s so easy to get sucked back in.’
‘Don’t be silly. When you go back to London, I don’t notice you chomping at the bit to stay.’
‘The difference between you and me is that I chose to leave.’
He paused before he continued. ‘I just think part of you wants to go back, permanently. You’ve never tried to put proper roots down here.’